The Return of the Lost Hero
by Lex Fowler
Summary: Percy thought that his adventures were over with. He's twenty eight! An old man! (By demigod standards, at least...) But no. A sister of his arrives at Camp Half-Blood, dragging with her a buttload of mystery and a source of endless frustration to Percy. And a source of endless entertainment to the rest of the camp. Percabeth, Frazel, Caleo, Jiper. Warning, OCs.
1. The Greek Defender

**Hi. For the moment, my name is Louisa4533. Some of you remember me from about a year ago and the mess of stories I had bogging me down. Some of you don't. Those of you who don't remember me, please, enjoy the story.**

**For those of you who do, you guys _probably_ want an explanation. Well, if you haven't read my profile recently, you're probably startled about the fact that I'm posting again-and a new story, to boot. I have several reasons that I have listed on my profile. The short version: 1) I was kind of disappointed at the House of Hades and I didn't think that the Tartarus scenes were realistic enough and 2) when I went back and read through my stories, the majority of them sucked. Especially my Clashing Tides Series. So I'm re-writing it, condensing my characters, adding more mystery and intrigue. Yes, there will be OCs, but this will be told from Percy's point of view. And these OCs will not be ridiculously overpowered. **

**Let's just say that my parents had to check on me because I was laughing so hard. They were terrible. _Terrible_. Like, a-spider-mixed-with-the-Minotaur, terrible.**

**For you people who have stuck by me for so long and are frustrated at me for abandoning you for so long, feel free to rant in your reviews. I won't take offense, I promise.**

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><p>Worlds are not meant to cross. The entirety of the Greco-Roman pantheon learned that the hard way. In all actuality, the whole world learned it the hard way, but it was only the demigods—and some residents in Brooklyn, that, if you are familiar with our meeting, I should not need to name.<p>

I don't think I _could_ say their names without the fabric of reality collapsing about our half-godly ears. Thankfully, I'm not saying them. I'm writing them, so that this will not be forgotten and the Greco-Romans and the Egyptians won't meet again and have to fix the world all over again.

Yes. You read that right. The Egyptians The people with the more-whacked-up-than-usual gods.

My name is Percy Jackson. You might be familiar with me. Our senior scribe has written a number of books that are published in the mortal world in hopes of some of the minor demigods and gods and goddesses might come and be recognized.

It started when I was sixteen, before the Giant War, during those four short months of relative peace. I'm not sure if you're familiar with my first encounter with Carter, so let me give you the run down: we met trying to kill the same croc that turned out to be the humongous result of some god's really, really old artifact. Ended up trying to kill each other, then made an uneasy truce until the thing was dead. That done, I ended up buying us both cheeseburgers. Carter, for some unknown reason that still makes me wary of the guy, decided to trust me and gave me a calling card. It disappeared into my hand. Literally.

And as much as I would've loved his people's help (oh, he's Pharaoh, by the way), during the Giant War and especially during the Battle of Camp Half-Blood, they probably would've been slaughtered. Especially if they, I don't know, apparated straight into the middle of the battle. I've led people into war before, I don't think I could've done it again had they been slaughtered because of me. Or Carter's ability to trust.

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><p>Let's get something straight: magic is crazy.<p>

I'm not entirely sure what to classify my power beyond _power_, but the Camps—both Half-Blood and Jupiter—are just a pinch from bursting with magic. Camp Half-Blood alone has a huge, magical ward around us, shrouding us in secrecy, from a twelve-year-old's sacrifice almost twenty-one years ago. The forest is rife with creatures warped from the magic inherent around us. Greek fire consumes anything and everything, regardless if it was supposed to be flammable or not—that's the magical property in it. The Hecate cabin is a hoot: trying to do anything like a cabin inspection is next to impossible. One day it'll be as big as the Colosseum, the next it'll be tiny, with three bunk beds crammed in there and a teensy bathroom. Piper's magic alone can scare the absolute crap out of me—and it's definitely magic, because I've been subject to charmspeak several times, twice from her mother and once from Circe.

So, going off of that description, and the fact that we demigods bend or break the laws of physics all together fairly regularly, the most an instant teleportation or a flock of birds bursting out of the ground would get was a couple of raised eyebrows and perhaps a shriek from someone unfortunate enough to get caught in the flock of birds. That's it.

By the gods, I wish I could've seen the signs for what they had been. Even the Mist can't cover something like what was coming easily.

* * *

><p>After Carter and I went our separate ways, things were quiet. They were quiet for years. I eventually, hesitantly, thought that there would be relative peace for another couple hundred years.<p>

Well…let's just say that I was wrong. Big time. Like, godly _big_ and Kronos _time_.

It started…with my sister, I guess. Her name is Alexis. She's twelve, born nine months after the end of the Second Titan War, so you can probably guess what happened. There wasn't anything big announcing her arrival, unlike myself. She doesn't look a thing like me, with reddish-brown hair and oddly bright blue eyes that reminded me more of the Hermes or Apollo cabins' eyes. You'd never guess she was my sister. Heck, you'd never guess that we were even remotely _related_. I wasn't even sure that she liked me for a while. After she was claimed, she had looked pretty uncomfortable when she walked into my cabin. Er, our cabin.

"Mind if I come in?" she had asked awkwardly.

I had looked around and suppressed a grimace. "Sure, not a problem. I'm…not used to sharing the cabin. You like things neat?"

"My definition of organized baffles even Dad," she had replied dryly, a wry smile on her lips. "And he's supposed to be the King of Messiness."

I had laughed, the tension breaking.

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><p>"What's your Dad do?" I asked that night when we sat down to dig into our dinners.<p>

"Dad's a mechanic. Me and my sister—"

I spewed my drink. "_Sister?!_"

"She's adopted," Alexis said hastily, grinning a bit at my reaction. "But me and my sister both like to help him out. Dad drives Mom nuts regularly. It's funny to watch them argue. I can see why he married her."

"Why?" I prompted.

"She can keep up with his flaming temper and even retaliate once in a while." Alexis seemed intensely amused, like she'd indulged in an old inside joke or make a particularly ironic pun. "Normally with a bucket of ice water."

I laughed. "What's your Mom like?"

"She's stern sometimes, but she can prank like nobody's business. Dad didn't expect it the first time she conjured up a bucket of water and just kind of stood there in disbelief, thoroughly doused. Between Mom, my sister, and me, we've pulled off some awesome pranks on Dad. We had a water fight in the house once."

I grinned. "I guess that's the retaliation that you were talking about earlier?"

"Yep," she chirped, grinning mischievously.

Annabeth caught my eye, sitting at the Athena table. _You okay?_ she mouthed. I nodded at her.

I turned back to Alexis. "Do you mind me asking who or what tipped you off about being a demigod?"

She sobered abruptly. "I've known since I was five. My biological mother told me."

"You're adopted?"

She nodded, finishing her steak. She stabbed a piece of garlic bread with her fork like it had done a personal wrong to her and slid it around, soaking up the last of the gravy from the steak. "My biological mother died when I was seven. Alcohol poisoning. You're one of the lucky ones, aren't you?"

I winced at the phrasing but nodded. "There's not too many demigods with a healthy, truthful relationship with their mortal parent."

She nodded as if she already knew that. "And those who do normally die trying to protect their child. Or perhaps because of their scent."

I swallowed. I didn't need to say any more, since she had basically covered it.

It only occurred to me afterwards, when Alexis was already asleep and I was climbing into bed: _How had she known? She's only been here three days._

I had forgotten about my question by morning, though.

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><p>"My Dad knows," she said abruptly at breakfast the next morning.<p>

My eyebrows lifted. "He knows…what?"

"That I'm a demigod. My Mom knows. My sister knows. They all know."

I hesitated. "Is that a good thing?"

She nodded definitely. "Of course. Dad wasn't real happy about my choice, though."

"Your choice?" I felt like a freaking parrot.

"To come here."

"My Mom didn't want me to come at first, either. She thought that if I went here she'd never see me again."

She quirked a smile. "That's a nice sentiment."

She didn't elaborate.

I was a bit confused. "So they're mad?" I guessed.

To be frank, I was startled that she was so jaded. So jaded, and yet she could smile and laugh and crack jokes just as easily as I could when I first came to Camp. My sister was a walking contradiction.

She shrugged listlessly, munching on a piece of bacon thoughtfully. I could hear her crunching from across the table. "Crispy, much?"

"It's better than Dad's. He burns the bacon every single time and then protests that it's 'just a little crispy!'" she said, mock indignation flowing through her voice during the last four words. "He may be able to whip up a taco over the open fire like nobody's business but he sucks at cooking anything over the stove."

I snorted.

I missed the thankful look on her face that I had been successfully diverted off the subject of why her adopted parents had not wanted her to come.

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><p>Annabeth pulled me to the side a week later. "You need to keep an eye on your sister."<p>

"What?" I said in disbelief.

She smacked me round the head. "Are you stupid?" she hissed at me. "This is _your sister_. A child of Poseidon. You remember what the _last_ child of Poseidon got into? You should, because _you_ were the last child of Poseidon! Damn it all to Hades, Seaweed Brain, her name means 'defender of mankind' in _Ancient Greek_. You fulfilled your prophecy-name within a week of finding out what you were. What on _earth_ do you think _she's_ going to do?!"

I gripped her arms as something occurred to me. "Why would Dad be having another child in the first place?" I asked her urgently. "I must have given him half a million heart attacks during my quests, official or unofficial. I highly doubt that he would want another heart-attack-inducer."

"He's a god. Gods don't get heart attacks."

"Perhaps not, but I definitely scared the _crap_ out of him multiple times. No self-respecting man wants to wet his pants, and certainly not multiple times. Why would he want another kid?"

She hesitated. "I still have younger siblings, Percy. After me, Athena probably wouldn't want to sire another child either. I don't think that she can help it, though."

I scowled. This was as screwed up as some of the Hephaestus cabin's old projects from before Leo broke their stroke of bad luck. "I'll be back."

She grabbed my arm before I could dart towards the Sound and kissed me soundly, her fingers twinning their way through my black hair. She released me after a couple of seconds and I straightened, dazed a bit. "What was that for?" I asked stupidly.

She laughed and called me a Seaweed Brain. "Don't do anything too rash, won't you?"

I saluted.

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><p><strong>Oh, nearly forgot. This will be covering for the entire story, because we all know that I am not Rick Riordan, let alone male and a millionaire. Therefore, I do not own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, nor do I own the Kane Chronicles.<strong>


	2. The Power of Theatrics

**_RELATED TO THE UPCOMING CHAPTER: I think the music would be Audiomachine: Unfinished Life. I would start it just after you read the first set of lines. Set it on repeat, since this is a long performance and a rather short melody. I think it goes perfectly…tell me what you think._**

**_I am still open to people yelling at me through reviews from my long absence. And believe it or not, I was working on this for a full five weeks. My writing style has changed, obviously. This is my third revision, I think. And my fifth idea. So please, don't come through my computer and kill me!_**

**_And I started doing little poems. For those of you who are two-timers, yes, this poem at the very beginning hints at her previous power, which on the last series was the cause of the turning point of the books. It also hints at the relative that she found in one of the later books. No, I'm not telling you newbies._**

**_Oh, and DaughterOfAthena? Thanks for recommending my books, but I personally thought they were crap. I think you'll like this set better. Percy will have a larger role than he did last time around._**

**_Divine Protector of Skyrim: *sheepish smile* Sorry?_**

**_Enjoy. I worked hard. Song-making is rather hard, did you know that?_**

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><p><em>What help am I,<br>To only foretell the past?  
>But what hope would I be,<br>To only doom the future?_

—_Alexis's Journal_

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><p>When I returned from the sea just after sunset, torn between shock and anger—both directed at my father, not Alexis—I found her at the campfire, clearlyin her element. I had arrived just in time to see her entrance, and at first I thought we were being attacked, my hand instantly shoved into my pocket, ready to bring out Riptide.<p>

The campfire was just starting. It was the Summer Solstice, which had always been an important date for demigods and monsters alike, but now it was an _extra_ important date. Despite both Kronos and Gaea having been defeated in August, the demigods had decided to celebrate their falls on the Solstice. Why? I don't know. Probably because a lot of things fell into place around the Summer Solstice. Like my first quest. Ah, _memories_.

But I digress.

The fire had flamed and then abruptly died, to the shock of most of the campers. A lone figure stood in the sooty ashes, dressed in black from head to toe, with one exception: a teal cloak around her shoulders. She looked like a traveler. Some grinned (I realized later that it was the Hephaestus, the Hecate, and the Apollo cabins, with whom she had collaborated with her performance), but most just sat there in shock, the occasional flaming marshmallow and the half-moon the only light in the amphitheater.

And then she opened her mouth, her voice strong and unwavering under the force of hundreds of shocked eyes.

_I have a story to tell  
>Of a young boy who dwells<br>In the hearts of all…_

Mist rose from the ground, and music started up, soft, haunting, eerie, bouncing around the amphitheater, so that it sounded like it was coming from everywhere and nowhere. I slipped my hand out of my pocket and slipped into a ground seat next to Rachel Elizabeth Dare. Her green eyes were focused on the performance.

The girl swept around, cloak billowing dramatically.

_I have a story to spin  
>Where a young hero has been<br>To recount to all…_

Legs spread wide, she raised her arms slowly, her head falling back dramatically. The mist rose from the ground, coalescing into the shape of a woman with short curly hair, holding a baby, and a large, hulking man with a brace on one leg. I had expected it to stay in that bluish-white color, but then color bloomed over the two, revealing her to be Latino and he to be quite obviously a god—Hephaestus, when I finally recognized him from back in my adventures of the Labyrinth.

_I speak of the beginning  
>A miniature babe grinning<br>But they knew his fate…_

Having lowered her arms, she raised one once more and pointed at the trio. The music pitched. Flames erupted around the tiny, slightly transparent family. Some of the audience let out startled screams. Her arm dropped and she spun around, cloak billowing dramatically around her.

_Scattered to the winds of doom  
>Where a goddess in costume<br>Trained him for his fate…_

She swept an open hand around her, palm facing the sky, and figures rose out of the mist: an old lady in a rocking chair next to a fireplace with a roaring fire, singing silently, and I could just barely make out a baby in the fire, playing in the sparks. A door materialized, and Leo's mother walked through, shrieked and grabbed her baby out of the fire, coming close to punching the old lady's lights out.

The fire vanished, and the figures fell back into the foot of fog in the amphitheater.

Another scene formed, with toddler Leo playing with butcher knives happily, the same old woman standing there, doing nothing. If anything, she looked proud. The two stayed there long enough for everyone to see, then fell back into the mists.

Another scene formed. The amphitheater was transformed into a grassy pasture. A cow stood a little ways off. But toddler Leo (he was a little bit older than the last, about four) was handed a stick from the old woman, and she gestured invitingly at a snake which rose out of the misty grass. Leo looked incredulous, looking at the stick to the snake and then to the old woman. He shook his head and let go of the stick. She looked a tad frustrated when the snake looked at the old woman like, _You're nuts, lady_, and slithered off into the tall grass. Everything collapsed into shapeless fog once more.

One last scene built up out of the fog. On a picnic bench, little Leo was coloring while the old lady watched him and sang silently. He held it up proudly, and the amphitheater drew a shocked breath as one—it was the _Argo II_, undoubtedly. It was snatched out of his hands, the little mist piece of paper fluttering away on an actual gust of wind that rifled through the amphitheater. The old lady smiled and patted him on the head. She said something, and Leo beamed in that little-kid way that made you want to do anything to see that smile again. He set his hands on the wood of the bench, and fire blazed, disintegrating the pad of paper to ashes and melting the crayons. Fire rolled over the scene, obliterating it.

_T'was a night of certain doom  
>Where Gaea raged, fires bloomed<br>And set him his path…_

Color, fire, and mist exploded around the small figure, throwing her arms out, detailing that night in the workshop that Leo beat himself up for every day for the rest of his life. Almost the entire amphitheater flinched when 'Leo' lost control over the fire and it swarmed over everything—but left the campers untouched. Hephaestus watched from above, silently crying, a silver tear tracing his damaged cheek.

I seriously wanted to know how they did this, because this was pretty impressive. There were no electronics that I could see, so this was all magic and powers at play here. I knew it certainly couldn't be just one person.

_For years and years he wallowed  
>No attachment, not hollowed<br>Scared of his own wrath…_

She whirled, grabbing the edge of her cloak and sweeping in a full circle, flames billowing around her, sweeping through the amphitheater to taper off just before it reached my feet in a roiling cloud of smoke. I coughed, my eyes watering at the smoke.

_Then came that day at fate's gate  
>Where prophecy lies in wait<br>Unaware of evil_

She raised a hand, claw-like fingers to the curled to the sky, and Leo's figure formed in the mist, smiling, cracking lame jokes at an amnesiac Jason. A younger Hedge stormed into view, with a baseball bat and a bullhorn. A worried Piper looked exasperated at Leo, smacking her forehead.

She slashed her hands through the air and the scene dissolved. A hand raised again, and another image formed: an _anemoi thuellai_ standing over Leo as he clung to the edge of a canyon, Leo looking rather alarmed and the monster smirking. They fell back into the fog on the ground when the lone figure in the fireplace turned.

_Yes, the hero was rescued  
>Taken to this own venue<br>Wary, but gleeful_

A graceful arc over her head with her hand saw a misty chariot with five people in it pulled by pegasi being followed by the _anemoi thuellai_.

_A quest! A quest was issued  
>Secret he kept, continued<br>Powerful as ever…_

Demigods gasped, startled, as Cyclopes rose out of the mist, clearly intent on eating Jason and Piper, who were strung up and trussed like turkeys ready to be roasted on a spit. Leo stood on hot coals, smirking, a maniac gleam in his eyes as the biggest Cyclops hurled a can of kerosene at him and broke open at his feet. Actual flames erupted around him, and Piper, conscious, clearly screamed his name. But Mist Leo stepped out of the flames, smirking still at the Cyclops, who seemed appropriately stunned.

_To California he went  
>To kill her, to his ascent<br>Her connection, severed_

A giant, misty face appeared in the fog, parallel to the ground, some of the two-timers automatically reaching for their chosen weapons. Misty Leo rose, a toilet seat in hand, and threw it into the face. Piper's snort was heard in the near-silence.

The lone figure in the ashes of the fireplace swept her hand around, and another scene rose. A cage rose, a person inside, Piper and Leo working on opening it. Annabeth, on the other side of Rachel, hissed in annoyance.

_To our home he went, to build  
>A ship, fate still unfulfilled<br>A Prophecy lies…_

It looked like a fancy time-lapse misty video, Leo and the Hephaestus cabin running around like chickens with their heads cut off, the _Argo II_ slowly forming.

_Across the ocean lay wait  
>A horde of monsters with bait<br>Deathless still he lies…_

I searched out Frank and Hazel, to see their faces. They were the only ones with Leo when he apparently hatched his brilliant plan of busting them all out and arrived just in time to pick Jason, Nico, and I up. Both of them looked half-rueful, half-grateful, with a hint of amusement somewhere in there.

_When the Two fell, he despaired  
>But still on he persevered<br>To the open maw…_

_Into battle, into war  
>Kill the one of ancient lore<br>To his last hurrah…_

Demigods, as one, drew in a shocked gasp as color and fire and mist shot out from seemingly under the stadium seats and wrapped itself in a maelstrom of very dangerous, very destructive power around the girl in the fireplace. She thrust her hands upward, and it exploded into dozens of little scenes from the war, with the main event right over our heads, Festus and Leo and Gaea, and then Imperial Gold flying into the scene, impacting against the three of them and detonating in a huge fireball. I covered my mouth, trying not to cry as I witnessed one of the Seven's death again.

_My story is almost done  
>For at last the war is won<br>But only at dreadful costs  
>Thank you, all those we have lost<br>Never shall we forget you  
>Here's to you, born anew!<em>

Her voice held the last note and became louder briefly before it was cut off by the roar of the fire that erupted around her, seemingly burning her alive. But then it died again, and she was gone.

* * *

><p>"How did you do that?" was the first thing I asked when I stepped into the cabin to see my half-sister stepping out of the dark cargo pants she'd worn for her performance. She had leggings on underneath, and apparently was not at all shy with undressing with me right there.<p>

She laughed. "Honestly, all I did was the mist. The Hecate cabin did everything else that looked cool, the Hephaestus cabin provided the trapdoor underneath the fireplace and a hidden mike, and the Apollo cabin provided the music. I have a good voice, a flair for theatrics, and a little bit of power over water. That's literally all I have."

I swallowed. That was it? _Damn_, that looked like a lot more than that. "The color? The fire?"

"The Hecate cabin. One of them is a pyromaniac." She snorted. "I think he had more fun with the performance than I did."

I laughed a little, still a little shocked. "That's it? If it was me, I would've used solid water figures."

"Mist looks better with the proper lighting. Always. Not negotiable. That, and, I can't control that much water."

"What?! But—"

She cut me off. "Percy, when I was conceived, our father had just got done fighting a war. His realm was in chaos and mostly, if not all the way, destroyed. His power was all but gone. There is _no way_ that I could have been powerful. And honestly, with the way our father treats me, you'd think that it was _my_ fault. I'm _glad_ that I'm not powerful, because he'd still have mixed feelings for me, and then there's the fact that it's a major miracle that you've lived as long as you have without being permanently maimed or killed because of your scent."

"Dad said—"

She slapped a hand over my mouth, looking pained. "I have no need, want, or desire to hear anything that Father wants to say to or about me right now, when I'm coming off my high of theatrics. In the morning, please, so that I can dump my milk over your head when you tell me something that I don't like."

I gotta say, I like her reasoning, despite the fact that I don't like the way she's going about it. Did that make sense? Agh, never mind, nothing makes sense with me anymore.


	3. Part of a Set

**I have one major thank you: trustingHim17, who is my wonderful beta who volunteered after I botched the last chapter. Hope this one was better!**

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><p>The next morning, Alexis could hardly eat her breakfast, she was too busy being inundated with campers' "good job" and "thank you" and gushing over her performance. I never got the chance to tell her about my visit with our father.<p>

Alexis had yanked the world out from my feet and she didn't even do anything. Now I knew what the rest of the Camp had felt like when I was still in my trouble-attracting days.

It was disconcerting, to tell you the truth, and funny, and maddening, all at the same time.

But what really made me mad was Poseidon. I don't know what Alexis did to anger him so badly, but with the hostility on both sides, I didn't know what to think. I knew that Alexis had the same view of Poseidon that Annabeth viewed towards her father for the majority of her pre-teen years: deadbeat. Uncaring. But with the little information that I was given, I suspected that it ran deeper than simple neglect.

That afternoon, we were finally alone in our cabin. She was fiddling with some metal thing that I had no idea what it was supposed to do, but occasionally weird squeaks would emanate from it.

"I talked with our father yesterday," I said, finally breaking the awkward silence.

"Oh?" Her voice was decidedly cool and skeptical. I had to remind myself that she was twelve, not the broody fifteen-year-old that she sounded like.

"I never would've thought that Dad could hate someone of his own blood so much."

She scowled. "I'm sure he accused me of all sorts of bizarre things."

"Why? I don't understand," I said, stumbling over my words. "All I'm getting from both sides is a great amount of hostility and only a little bit of information. You haven't accused him of anything outright, and he hasn't accused you of anything either, by the way. _What on earth happened?_"

Her head was bent over the metal thing that she was working on, and it emitted a particularly loud _SCREECH_. Alexis's hands stilled, her head bending even lower, her hair dropping into her face like a curtain, shielding her from the rest of the world. She sighed. "Our father…he's not perfect, Percy. He's prone to rages and pitiful temper tantrums just like the rest of the world. When I was six, a year before my mother died from her alcohol, we lived in Louisiana."

She stopped her story, and fiddled with the metal thing. When it gave another loud, protesting _SCREECH_, she huffed in exasperation and threw it at the wall. It bounced off and started wailing like a freaking banshee. She got up, stomped over there, and crushed it under her boot heel. The noise stopped, and I lowered my hands from my ears hesitantly.

I almost thought that she wasn't going to continue with her story, but she flopped down on her bed and refused to look at me, instead staring at the bottom of the bunk above her. "You were scarily right, actually, that first breakfast we had. I _did_ have a sister, a twin, named Kirsten. Do you remember Hurricane Donovan?"

I was probably staring like an idiot, but I nodded, remembering the horrific news on the storm. Donovan started out in east Africa in June six years ago and moved his way across the Atlantic, building strength with frightening speed. He'd been a very organized storm, and instead of hitting Florida and dissipating instantly like most of the hurricanes did, it passed over the peninsula as a category three wreaking havoc and never breaking up or slowing down. It hit the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico and then rammed into Louisiana and Mississippi with devastating force at a category four, moving inland, and only getting to the status of a tropical storm after getting to Tennessee. Donovan, as a major storm system, continued north and then east, going back out into the Atlantic after passing through Virginia and Maryland, causing another four deaths from knocking over power lines and trees and crushing houses on top of unsuspecting people.

"We were in Baton Rouge when Donovan hit," Alexis said. "Within hours the water was rushing in at an unbelievable speed. My mother, my twin, and I were making for a rescue boat when a huge oak tree comes barreling down the street from the wind and the current that was rushing around our legs. My mother and I leaped one way, Kirsten leaped another. She got caught up in the tree's branches and I never saw her again."

I closed my eyes. "She was a daughter of Poseidon," I pointed out weakly. "She couldn't have drowned."

Alexis shook her head. "I can only breathe underwater if I'm thinking about it. If she was knocked out and then submerged, she would have drowned. I told you Percy, I'm not very powerful. I'm not like you."

"Missing doesn't always mean dead in demigod cases," I said.

"Name one person other than yourself," she challenged.

"Jason Grace," I shot back. "Leo Valdez. Annabeth Jackson. Nico di Angelo. Chris Rodriguez. Ethan Nakamura. Sally Jackson. Thalia Grace. Tristan McClean. There, I've named nine people."

I thought I had trapped her, considering that some of those were mortals or people who didn't have seriously visible powers. But I guess not, because she said, "And how many of those people did you legitimately think that they were dead and not have dreams about them still living or proof that they still live?" she demanded.

"Four," I admitted. "I thought that Ethan, Mom, and Thalia were dead until I got them back or I met them on the battlefield again. The latter accidentally, actually. And Leo…well, we can't find him in the Underworld. That's all the proof that we have that he's not dead."

Alexis shook her head. "Until I have proof otherwise, she's dead. I can't let myself hope."

I moved to sit by her, taking out the clip that was keeping some of her hair pulled back. That was a physical similarity between the two of us, I suddenly realized: our curly, messy hair that refused to be tamed.

"If we have hope that Leo's alive after all these years, you should have hope that Kirsten's alive as well," I said softly.

"You have proof," she murmured as twin tears spilling over and running down the side of her face. "I don't. I can't do it, Percy. I can't do it and I wouldn't do it even if I could. Let me go on believing that she's dead; it's easier."

* * *

><p>That evening, I was walking through the middle of camp when I was suddenly blinded by plaid fleece. I smiled, but my rib cage was slowly being crushed under my half-brother's enthusiasm. "Hi, big guy," I wheezed. "Ribs! I like them unbroken!"<p>

He let go and stepped back, his big brown eye sparkling with excitement. "Brother! Ella and Rachel staying for a while!"

My smile grew. "Where are they? And big guy?"

"Yeah?"

"We have a new sibling!"

I was entirely unrepentant of setting Tyson's child-like exuberance onto Alexis, who seriously needed a pick-me-up. Once you got used to Tyson, he was the best thing for cheering someone up. I pointed to the Poseidon cabin and he grabbed me by the arm (I think he was meaning to grab my hand, but he missed and grabbed my forearm instead) and all but dragged me there. I like to think that I'm pretty darn fast when I want to be, but when you have a ten-foot-tall brother going at top speed, you tend to lag behind.

Tyson ducked into the cabin, leaving me to rub my (probably bruised) arm and grin as Tyson scooped her up and whirled our startled sister around, yelling "Sister!" in excitement. I got a glimpse of her startled and a slightly alarmed face just before she was smothered into plaid fleece, and I burst out laughing.

When Tyson finally set her back down onto the ground, she was dizzy and fell on her butt with a _thump_. After she managed to get the world to stop spinning, she looked up…and up…and up at Tyson. Tyson really wasn't the prettiest picture by human standards, with peanut butter coated crooked teeth and the single eye right smack in the middle of his forehead (not to mention the ten-feet-tall part which gives any self-respecting human a crick in their neck).

Alexis looked to me first (I was still laughing), and then back at Tyson. "Hi," she said, but it came out more like a question. "I'm Alexis Sanders."

"Tyson!" Tyson said excitedly, and pumped the hesitantly offered hand enthusiastically, practically shaking her whole body.

Her rattled face just made me crack up more. I'm sure my face was beet red from laughing.

He was still shaking her body (I refused to say that he was shaking her hand) when he said, "Now we can swim and eat peanut butter sandwiches and see Annabeth and make monsters go BOOM!"

When Tyson finally stopped shaking her, she gingerly rubbed her arm, but she had a smile on her face. "So you like explosions too, huh?"

I ran out of the cabin, thinking, _oh gods, not another pyromaniac in the family_.


End file.
